One Smoothie, Please, With An Extra Handful of Shawn Spencer
by ExquisiteRose
Summary: Carlton Lassiter's having a bad day, so he visits his favorite Jamba Juice to feel better. Solely for the fruity deliciousness of the smoothies, of course.


W/C: 2049

**Pairing**: Shawn Spencer/Carlton Lassiter.

**Inspiration**: This was _sort of _inspired by the Shassie story, _double hot chocolate with extra whip cream. and sprinkles_ by_ unmatched hellraiser._

It's a good story, with Shawn as a barista at a coffee shop, actually. The stories have similarities, but are _very much separate _stories.

_**P.S**_: _I updated this for spelling errors only._ This is firmly a one-shot, although I may dabble separately into _Psych_ territory again later on, if you're ever interested. Thanks.

**Additional Notes**: This is my very first _Psych_ fiction. I'm nervous, but I want to post it because I spent time working on it, and I figure that's worth posting. Enjoy.

**Warnings**: Pre-slash to slash, sort of. AU. There may also be some spelling errors. Sorry.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own _Psych_.

* * *

Carlton Lassiter was not having a good day.

It all started yesterday, when Victoria had brought the divorce papers. He'd thought they were meeting again to maybe work out their dwindling relationship, a small hope facing so many odds. He doesn't know why he was surprised when she pulled them out during dinner, especially since he didn't really want to get back together. He had just expected it, assumed, for whatever reason, he didn't know. He only knew he couldn't refuse her any longer when she asked, though, and resigned himself to signing them.

He'd gone straight to a bar afterward. Not the brightest of decisions, he'll admit, but when hope has seemed to fail, the bottom of a liquor glass seems mighty tempting. Until you reach the bottom and it's empty, which is why he kept refilling his glass. Soon enough, he was drunk, but the bartender refused to sell to him anymore after he started belting out the lyrics of sad ballads of music, mostly mixing the words of multiple songs together in a horrid off-key and drunken way.

He'd stumbled his way out of the bar and walked home, glad he'd forsaken his car earlier when he'd decided to walk to the bar so he could let off some steam and prevent a bar fight (which would have resulted in him pulling out his badge and embarrassing himself).

The next morning, he'd woken up with a fierce pounding in his head, the result of one too many shots of whiskey, and a cotton mouth. He'd taken a shower and brushed his teeth, even downed a mug of coffee and some Aspirin, but he still felt like shit when he went in to work.

Speaking of work, that was a disaster as well. There weren't many cases that day, and the one he had was probably the most embarrassing to date. His hand cuffs had gone missing, someone had stolen his car, he'd had to walk from the station from where his car had gotten stolen, and the perp had punched him in the face before Carlton had tackled him, bringing back his headache from hell. He'd had to forcefully keep the perps hands behind his back because he still didn't have his hand cuffs, resulting in many bruises from the struggling criminal, and had to borrow O'Hara's when she arrived to properly cuff him.

Sadly, he still didn't have his car because the perp they'd arrested that day for fraudulent identity, identity theft, drug smuggling, drinking and driving, grand theft auto, and possession of illegal narcotics hadn't actually managed to steal _his_ car on top of it all.

It was some other little asshole.

After that, the workload for the day was practically non-existent, and Chief Vick had sent him home after he'd scared half the department by glaring at them, apparently, and growling at them several times; and generally being a grumpy pants (O'Hara's words, not his).

So he'd left. Without his car.

It was still pretty early, considering everything that'd happened, and Carlton really didn't want to return to his home and memoirs of the failure of his marriage, so he decided to go to his home away from home (not that he'd admit that to _anyone_).

He peeked into the Jamba Juice cautiously from outside, making sure he didn't see anyone he knew. When he assured the coast was clear, he loosened his tie slightly and flattened his hands over his slacks, releasing any imaginary wrinkles. He debated unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, but decided against it. Then, he walked in casually, case files in hand, so he could finish his report.

The Jamba Juice was sparsely filled, a few people here and there seated at tables by themselves, sipping on smoothies. This particular Jamba Juice was spacious and cozy, walls orange with splashes of mint green, sky blue, and strawberry red, some colors streaked across the walls by what must have been a very large paintbrush. The menu boards hung over the cash register, bright and alluring, where Guster stood in his uniform, a kiwi green polo shirt with a raspberry red tennis hat, the Jamba Juice logo printed on both.

"Guster," Carlton greeted with a nod. He snuck a glance behind the counter, but it seemed like Guster was the only one here for this shift. Carlton almost sighed in disappointment before he remembered he was not disappointed. Definitely _not_ _disappointed_.

"The usual?" Guster asked Carlton, smiling, even as he charged him for it and reached to get started on it. Carlton nodded and handed over the money.

He sat himself at a small, unassuming table, not as close to the counter as he would have on another day, close to a window. Pulling off his suit jacket and hanging it over his seat, he placed the files and report on the table and pulled a pen from his pocket, so he could get started. The whirl of the blender and the calming aroma of fruits relaxed him, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe it in.

Then, he decided he'd better tighten his tie; he didn't want people to think he was too uncaring. He was here to do work. And maybe drink a banana and berry smoothie. With extra bananas. Sue him.

Before he could do so, however, someone tutted beside him, and Lassiter noticed absently that the whirring of the machines had stopped. "Lassie," Shawn chided. "Loose ties are _fun_ ties. And unbutton the top buttons, Lassiroo. You need to relax, sleeves rolled up, hair free. This is a _Jamba_ _Juice_," Shawn stressed, like Carlton should have understood this already.

Carlton's lips quirked at the corners in what someone would mistakenly assume were a smile, and he obligingly rolled up his sleeves, loosening his tie just a bit. Shawn leaned forward and loosened it more, unbuttoning the top button of Carlton's shirt while he was at it. Carlton breathed deeply in and out.

"Hello to you, too, Spencer," Carlton replied, voice thankfully not shaking.

"I told you, Lassie, it's _Shawn_," Shawn emphasized.

"I told you, _Spencer_, it's Carlton," Carlton shot back.

Shawn raised an eyebrow, like he thought Carlton was crazy. "Carlton," he repeated, tasting the word. Then, he made a face. "Nope," he said resolutely, shaking his head enthusiastically, Jamba Juice hat tipping precariously. "You're Lassie. Can't fool me, Lassie-poo." Shawn grinned and took a seat across from Carlton, taking a big suck from Carlton's smoothie, which he'd brought to the table with him.

Carlton snatched it out of Shawn's hands. "Thank you," he said, taking a gulp. "Spencer, this is _pineapple_." Shawn's grin widened, and he winked at Carlton, who had flushed an endearing shade of red.

Shawn quickly changed gears to save Carlton some face. "What's this?" Shawn asked curiously, plucking the police report from the table. Carlton didn't stop him, just exhaled a long-suffering sigh. Shawn peered at the report, and then gave Carlton a look. "Already solved?" Carlton nodded. "Lassie, you wound me! Bringing me completed crimes! What a tease! _Guuuuus!_" Shawn whined. Guster just shook his head and laughed.

Carlton blushed slightly as people began to look over at their table, but the blush died down quickly enough. It was just something that happened when one spoke with Shawn, and many people looked away soon, too, since they were well aware of Shawn's flare for the dramatic.

"Sorry, Shawn, criminals can't wait for you," Carlton informed him, sipping his drink and shuffling through the files.

"Why not?" Shawn asked incredulously. "I'm hilarious, charming, a genius, incredibly good looking," he listed on his fingers.

"And modest," Gus added sarcastically. Carlton snorted indelicately.

Shawn paused, giving Carlton and Gus an indignant look. "Don't you think so, Lassie?" Shawn pouted as Lassie quickly averted his eyes, tips of his ears flushing. "Gus, tell Lassie how incredibly good looking I am!" Gus gave Shawn a look and turned back to the customer he'd been attending to. Shawn nodded to himself, like that proved something. "See!" Shawn told Carlton confidently.

Carlton was inclined to believe him, but that was probably from bias and not from any rationalizing from Shawn. Not that he'd ever tell him that, so he settled for shrugging non-comittedly.

Normally, Shawn would have taken this as a victory of sorts, but today he was feeling especially stubborn. "_Lassie_," he wheedled. "Admit it."

Carlton shook his head resolutely and snatched the case out of Shawn's hands. "Here," he said as he replaced that case with another. "I'd like you to take a look at this one. We made an arrest and have solid evidence, but it feels unfinished, as though there's another thread somewhere. I thought you'd be interested to know, and maybe give some advice."

Shawn nodded, opening the case file. He carefully avoided Carton's gaze as Carlton asked for help because he knew it was something Carlton didn't do often, and he didn't want to bring attention to it.

Scanning over the files and looking at pictures of evidence and the charged criminal, Shawn agreed that some loose ends needed to be snipped. He suggested Carlton call one of the females in the picture and ask for an interview. When Carlton told him she wasn't a suspect or even close to the victims or the culprit, Shawn shook his head stubbornly and insisted Carlton interview her.

"She appears in almost all these photos, see," Shawn said, pointing at each of the photographs, of which only one didn't feature the woman. "In each one, she's looking directly at him and in each one, she isn't directly in the pictures, but in the back. Also, each picture is for a party in a bar. Now, most people would think it was the wife, but she wasn't aware of the drugs or any really illegal activity. She was surprised when you questioned here, wasn't she?" Carlton nodded, unsurprised Shawn knew. Shawn had revealed to him his methods after Carlton's third visit here, when he told Shawn his psychic act was bullshit. Shawn had applauded his honesty, something about 'being courageous by risking getting laid', and that was that.

"Lassie, if you go to this bar, I can guarantee you'll find this woman there, with drugs hidden somewhere on the premises."

"How could she have kept the drugs there? She doesn't own the club; I interviewed all the owners," Carlton said, shaking his head slightly.

"She doesn't own it, Lassie. She _slept_ into it. The owner's son, how old is he, twenty four? Young, eager to please, new to the business; he'd be overcome by her easily. Can she leave a few things here? Why not?"

Carlton nodded. Shawn was right. The kid had seemed rather taken with the girl, who he'd seen while he'd met with the owners. She'd seemed eager to blend into the background that night, and Carlton had been slightly suspicious, but had written it off as jitters from seeing police officers in the workplace. It seemed there had been more to it; he should have trusted his instincts.

"Alright, I'll go now, then," Carlton announced, rising and collecting his files. "No time to lose, right?" He smiled at Shawn in parting, standing awkwardly for a moment, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, wondering if he should hug Shawn or if that would be too awkward, even after all this time.

"Right," Shawn said, grabbing Carlton's smoothie and standing up as well. "Let's go, then."

"Shawn, you're working," Carlton protested weakly. He wanted Shawn to come, sure, but he didn't want him to lose his job.

"Don't be a silly moose, Lassie-pants," Shawn replied, waving him off.

"It's silly goose, Shawn," Carlton corrected him.

"I've heard it both ways," said Shawn with a shrug. "And _anyways_," he added, "I'm not actually working right now." Shawn slid on Carlton's suit jacket and buttoned it up over his uniform. Carlton snuck an appraising look because Shawn looked good in those slacks and suit jacket, but...

Carlton snatched Shawn's hat off his head and tossed it to Guster, who waved at them in farewell.

"What are you doing here with your uniform on if you're not working?" Carlton asked as they walked out of the Jamba Juice.

Shawn glanced at him and said casually, "To see you, obviously."

"Obviously," Carlton repeated.

He smiled as he sipped his smoothie and thought that maybe his day was getting better.

* * *

**A/N**: Don't be a gingerbread man without a gumdrop, and leave a review!


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